


De-stache

by pollitt



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: M/M, Post-Mission, Reunion, Reunion Sex, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 12:11:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11691351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: To stealA kissHe had the knackBut lacked the cheekTo get one back--Burma-Shave(Or: Napoleon returns from a solo mission with a mustache.)





	De-stache

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the great [Henry Cavill mustache drama of summer 2017](http://variety.com/2017/film/news/henry-cavill-justice-league-mustache-controversy-1202507649/) and my love of shaving in fics. I couldn't resist the title.
> 
> Thank you to Maverick for the beta and indulging my whim.

The sudden amused bark of Gaby’s laughter is what alerts Illya to Napoleon’s return.

“Come now Miss Teller, I don't think it's that humorous,” Napoleon is saying as Illya walks into the sitting room.

Napoleon has his back to him and just beyond him Illya can see Gaby is almost horizontal on the couch, her arms wrapped around her knees, which are themselves almost pulled to her chest, as she continues to joyfully laugh.

“What have you done--” Illya begins to ask but his question quickly mutates as Napoleon turns to look at him with his raised brow and -- “your face. What has happened to your face?”

The face is question-- or at least the part that isn't covered by the mass of hair that had taken residence on Napoleon’s upper lip and jaw--gives him an exasperated expression. “It was decided that facial hair would complete the look. They felt the--”

“Animal pelt,” Gaby interrupts, attempting to swallow back another laugh.

“ _Mustache_ would make it that much more believable when I proved my proficiency with weapons. And as for the beard, well a razor and grooming kit wasn't part of the essentials while sleeping on a mountainside and hanging off a plane.”

“You look like one of those magnet men after a child is done playing,” Illya says and waves a hand at Napoleon’s face.

“The mission was a success by the way,” Napoleon's voice has a slight but unmistakable edge to it. “Only slight cuts and bruises. I wasn't just behind a desk for three months cultivating facial hair.”

Gaby gets up from the couch and walks over to Napoleon and hugs him. “Waverly told us. I'm glad you're back, even looking like you do,” She giggles.

“Thank you.” Napoleon accepts her hug and Illya can see a genuine smile at his lips.

“Of course.” Gaby points in Illya's direction, “He’s been a grumpy Russian bear without you.” She gives Illya a quick wink and then swings her hand and attention back to Napoleon, offering her hand, palm up. “Give me your room key. I'll sleep there tonight.”

Napoleon places the key in her outstretched hand and with a nod she's out the door.

“You're not keeping it.” Illya says when it's just the two of them. He can't stop staring at Napoleon's mouth, and not for the usual reason.

“I think you're both overreacting,” Napoleon’s still more than an arm’s length away. Illya notices the tired look at the corner of his eyes, the slight droop of his shoulders and how his usually impeccable clothing has just a hint of wilt.

Illya shakes his head, “We're not. But it's something you and I can deal with later.” Illya closes the distance between them and cups his hands over Napoleon's jaw, feeling the bristles of Napoleon's beard under his palms as he leans for the first kiss in a quarter of a year.

 

* * *

 

“You know I hear mustaches are becoming quite the style.” Napoleon says after they've left a trail of discarded clothing ending at the bed, kissing the dip of Illya’s back. Illya shivers.

“Not that one.” Illya turns onto his back and reaches for Napoleon. His fingers sink into Napoleon's hair as Napoleon kisses his way up Illya’s chest to his mouth. “But I won't kick you out of bed for it.”

Their shared laughter vibrates between them.

 

* * *

 

Illya wakes up to an empty bed and the sound of Napoleon humming in the bathroom. From the bed Illya can see the light of bathroom and the last dying wisps of steam from what he can deduce had been Napoleon’s shower, and as he approaches the bathroom, he can make out the song. It's a Sinatra tune.

Napoleon’s back is to him as Illya stands in the doorway, but Illya can see Napoleon’s reflection in the mirror. His hair is damp, a curl is clinging determinedly to his forehead, and there's still beads of water on his shoulders and chest hair. And his face is once again smooth, save for one stripe of white-foamed beard at his cheek.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Napoleon asks, meeting Illya’s eyes in the mirror.

“It would be my pleasure.” Illya says taking the razor. Holding Napoleon’s face gently in his hand, Illya runs the razor over the last stripe. “There.” He takes the hot towel and wipes away the traces of shaving foam.

“Hello Napoleon.”

Napoleon's smile is pure, naked happiness.

“Welcome back.”


End file.
